


Cataloging ones emotions can often lead to tears

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspection is always easier when his eyes are blurry and his nose is clogged with snot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cataloging ones emotions can often lead to tears

**Author's Note:**

> Two weeks.

Introspection is always easier when his eyes are blurry and his nose is clogged with snot.  
His-no-their apartment, rebuilt and repainted, but vast and empty. It feels like a shell, a box that used to hold so many good memories, now there isn’t even dust. He’s overwhelmed by the openness, uncomfortable without the material possessions they’d held so dear.  
Some days are hollow. Blank stretches of time devoid of color or sound to keep him distracted. Nothing but the empty ache in his chest and his rushing thoughts.  
Some days are so overwhelming he can barely speak.  
Mac is here, he always is, a sturdy, dependable weight gently pressed against his back, a lovely - if his eyes would focus - view of Philadelphia out their living room window. Hands are over his, fingers laced together. Arms crossed over his chest; caging him, restraining him in a strong, comforting hold, grounding him, stilling his racing thoughts. A chin on his left shoulder, stubble scratching his bare skin. The small details help him focus.  
Sometimes it hurts to feel so much.  
Sadness? Of course. They’re older but not wiser. He hates the medication.  
He hates that it helps.  
Things were easier when he thought he was right.  
Fear? All the time. Will Dee leave him? Will Mac?  
The arms tighten. He shivers.  
Happiness? It scares him more than the fear. Maybe it’s fake, just the pills, just a well constructed lie.  
He’s too afraid of being right to test his theory.  
Being right used to be so comforting. He wore it like an expensive suit.  
He knows, objectively, things are better. His feelings are tangible and exciting after so long. Sometimes they’re even pleasant.  
Not now though.  
Arms shift around, guiding him to an air mattress, their only piece of furniture. His limbs feel heavy; he doesn’t resist when Mac curls around his back, one arm securely around his waist.  
A single pillow. One well worn blanket over them. An old childhood toy, patched and soft to the touch. And Mac. A protective shield, holding him together.  
Tomorrow he’ll feel better. Maybe not okay, but better. He’ll take his pill while Mac valiantly tries to make them breakfast on a hotplate. It’ll taste terrible, but he looks forward to the fond feeling brought on by Mac’s earnest expression begging for praise.  
Tomorrow, they will rebuild.  
But for now, Mac and Dennis sleep.


End file.
